


A Neighborly Court Date

by redpenny



Series: 'A Neighborly...' Series [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Body Image, Body Worship, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Firefighter Derek Hale, M/M, Teasing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpenny/pseuds/redpenny
Summary: Stiles is reaching up, trying to decide between Cocoa Puffs and Fruity Pebbles, when he feels a pinch to his lower belly.He yelps and shoves his shirt back down, aiming a glare behind himself.Derek doesn't even bother looking apologetic as he points out, "Your clothes don't look like they fityou, either."
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: 'A Neighborly...' Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548832
Comments: 10
Kudos: 435





	A Neighborly Court Date

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel from Stiles's POV that pretty much wrote itself.
> 
> Once again, this is pretty much just a chubby guy, a guy who likes chubby guys, and sex.

Stiles sucks in just a bit more and finally manages to get the last button into its hole. He sighs in relief.

His reflection in the mirror sighs, too, and when it relaxes, its belly surges out. The white dress shirt strains and puckers around the buttons. Pale skin puffs out in the gaps between them.

Shit.

To be fair, the suit is over a year and a half old.

Stiles had bought it when he'd first started his job and he's only had to wear it a couple times since then. As he's happy to tell anyone who tries to question his wardrobe choices, hoodies and jeans give him more credibility as the resident hacker-tech-guy around the police station than a suit could.

He's sure the same would apply when he has to testify in court, but no one's given him a chance to test the theory.

The suit pants aren't a terrible fit. Once he'd laid on his back, he'd managed to get them buttoned under his stomach. And they're stretchy enough over his thighs that they don't seem to be testing the integrity of the seams too much.

The shirt's the problem. Which is ironic because he'd been optimistic at how wide it had looked when he'd pulled it out from the back of his closet.

But as wide as the shirt might be, it turns out his waistline is wider.

Sucking his stomach in flattens some of the roundness, though the fit is still far from flattering — it still strains over cushiony rolls — but he might just survive the day.

At least, as long as the jacket still fits.

When Stiles gets to the kitchen, Derek lowers his protein shake and stares at his stomach.

But Derek stares at his stomach a lot, so that's nothing new. Even if he won't admit it, he's a kinky fucker without a subtle bone in his genetically blessed body.

It still makes Stiles a bit self-conscious. Though, to be fair, he'd been getting a bit more insecure about his weight lately even before Derek had mistaken him for a sex worker a month ago and they'd proceeded to have the best sex of Stiles's life.

It had taken him a few years to get fat. He'd been skinny enough when he'd gone off to college that the first fifteen, thirty pounds had just made him look like any average college guy who didn't bother hitting the gym to work off nights of pizza and beer.

But, somewhere between Junior and Senior year, he'd ended up with the first digit on the scale being a two, rather than a one.

Having to embrace being the funny fat guy hadn't really hurt his prospects, though.

Stiles had never been the kind of guy who was going to score at the kind of club — such as, any gay club in any town ever — where everyone was just looking for a hot, chiseled body for the night. But long years of experience with rejection had left him unafraid to stare it in the face and being willing to put himself out there whenever he stood half a chance had worked as well for him as it always had. He'd break the ice with a joke about his weight and the lucky guy or gal would proceed to ignore the belly in the room. 

More recently, though — around the time a double chin started showing up in the mirror and a gut started spreading into his lap — he'd suddenly realized that he was heavier than any of the girls with curves or guys with beer bellies he'd ever slept with before.

Then, despite a Tinder profile with belly and love handles on full display, he'd been accused of using old — thinner! — photos when he'd met a potential hookup in person. And he'd started to wonder if he should maybe think about taking some of the unsolicited diet advice he'd gotten over the years.

After the holidays were over, that was.

Derek's still staring as Stiles heads for the cupboards and Stiles, faced with the prospect of having to keep his gut sucked in all day because he's eaten himself out of a size that he could still semi-comfortably squeeze into six months ago, could do without it.

"Dude," he snaps.

Derek raises hazel eyes to meet Stiles's. Stiles narrows his suspiciously as he catches sight of what he's wearing.

"You're wearing my clothes."

"Yes."

"They don't fit you," Stiles informs him grumpily as he reaches up into the cereal cupboard.

He's not averse to a little clothes-sharing. He's a generous guy. But, really, there's something about their dynamic that makes Stiles feel like it really should be _him_ borrowing _Derek's_ clothes.

The whole sight before him right now is offensive, is what it is.

Derek's not a small guy, is the problem. He's six feet of more muscle than any one person needs. There's no reason that Stiles's Marvel shirt should hang so loosely off his broad shoulders. Or that he should have had to tie his waistband as tight as possible _and_ roll it over to keep Stiles's sweats from falling off his ass. _Especially_ when said ass is about as round and thick as it can get when its owner has approximately zero percent body fat to contribute to it.

Derek just hums agreement with Stiles's assessment. And then he steps in behind him, resting a hand on Stiles's hip and pressing a lean, warm body against his back.

Stiles is reaching up, trying to decide between Cocoa Puffs and Fruity Pebbles, when he feels a pinch to his lower belly.

He yelps and shoves his shirt back down, aiming a glare behind himself.

Derek doesn't even bother looking apologetic as he points out, "Your clothes don't look like they fit _you_, either."

"They fit fine." Stiles sucks his tummy in a little more for good measure and turns back to his breakfast choices.

He can practically feel Derek raising an eyebrow behind him.

Stiles sighs and concedes, "Okay, maybe the suit's a little old—"

"How old?"

"—But I'm going on a diet." He decides on the Cocoa Puffs. His shirt rides up again when he reaches for them. He tugs it back down before his tummy roll earns itself another pinch.

"You don't need a diet, Stiles." Derek strokes his hands over his hips. He's finding more hip than usual, Stiles knows, what with all the flesh squeezing over his pants. "You feel nice."

Stiles scoffs.

"You do." Derek kisses the side of his neck as he slides his hands around Stiles's belly.

Stiles peers down at the sight of Derek's hands, tan and strong, on the rolls of fat trying to burst out of his shirt.

"You look good, too, you know," Derek murmurs. "Even if you do look like you're going to lose a button."

Stiles shoves Derek away, grousing, "I'm not going to lose a button."

"I think you might."

"I won't." Stiles dumps the cereal into a bowl. "Did you miss the part about the diet?"

Derek pats his stomach. "Are you going to keep this sucked in all day?"

"If I have to." He'll have to. He knows that.

"You won't be able to sit down, either."

"I can sit down," Stiles huffs and heads for the table. He keeps his belly tucked in as best he can as he gingerly takes a seat. After a thankfully uneventful moment, he gives Derek a meaningful, "See?"

But then, as he leans forward to take a bite of cereal, he hears a pop.

The sound echoes through the kitchen.

Derek raises both his eyebrows.

The court appearance isn't until two.

Over lunch break, Stiles drinks a diet soda, buys a new suit, and then waits, bored, as the judge finishes sentencing two teenagers caught near the preserve.

The family had pressed charges, of course. They always press charges. Even if one's father is the sheriff. If the two boys had thought to ask Beacon Hills' resident ex-troublemaker before going on their little adventure, Stiles could have told them that.

He could have also warned them that Judge Henderson is known for his "creative" sentencing.

Getting bored, Stiles taps a foot and attempts to cajole Derek into sending him a dick pic.

He finally receives a text back saying, "Will this do?". It's followed by a photo of Derek in full uniform, bent down next to a young girl with a little firefighter teddy bear.

Stiles sighs. Of course this is who he has to be sleeping with.

Someone who goes to schools to distribute teddy bears to third graders on his day off.

And who sends Stiles a pic he can't even jerk off to when Derek's selfishly off saving the greater Beacon Hills area.

At least the photo reminds Stiles to resume his internet searches for any existing Fire Station 128 charity calendar that might feature a shirtless Derek Hale.

Stiles is hoping for a Mr. December featuring a Santa hat, glistening abs, and tighty-whities adorned with a light-up reindeer nose. But he's nothing if not flexible.

Derek is sprawled on the couch when Stiles gets to his place.

A slow grin spreads over his face as he looks up at Stiles. "How'd your court date go? Do I need to figure out jail visitation dates?"

"Hilarious," Stiles informs him. He drops his heavy bag down on the floor and two laptops, an iPad, and various cables knock against each other. He throws his suit jacket down on top of it.

"Come over here," Derek tells him, tossing his book aside and kicking his bare feet off of the coffee table.

"What? Not even going to get up to greet me?" Stiles complains as he heads over. "Is the magic gone already?"

Derek looks him up and down. "You look nice."

Stiles glances down at himself. "Went and got a new suit today."

"I can see that."

Derek holds out his arms as if he's expecting Stiles to get into his lap.

Stiles gives him a deeply skeptical look.

"C'mere." Derek leans forward and grabs his arms.

"Dude." Stiles resists. "I'm not some hundred-and-fifteen-pound waif. I'd rather not be responsible for breaking the legs of Beacon Hills' 2016 Firefighter of the Year."

Derek tugs him closer. "I'm not a hundred-and-fifteen-pound waif, either, in case you didn't notice."

Stiles eyes Derek's lap doubtfully. There's barely even room for both Stiles and his belly there. But Derek seems insistent. So he gingerly straddles the idiot's muscled thighs, trying to put most of his weight on his own knees on the couch cushions beside him.

"Stiles." Derek's eyes are laughing. He grabs his hips and pulls him down closer.

"I'm too heavy."

"You are heavy," Derek agrees. He leans over Stiles's belly to kiss him hello. "You're not _too_ heavy."

Stiles gives him a skeptical look.

"Relax," Derek tells him. He starts unbuttoning Stiles's new shirt and presses a kiss to the base of his throat.

Stiles cautiously allows more of his weight to settle on Derek's lap.

When Derek gets to his chest, he nudges him gently. "Lean back so I can get this undone."

Stiles glances down to find his gut not just in the way of kisses, but squishing into Derek's lean torso too firmly to get at his buttons.

Feeling his face heat, he scoots back in Derek's lap and sucks in to give him enough room.

His out of shape abdominals are still tired from trying to hold his belly in this morning, so as soon as Derek tugs the bottom of the shirt out of his suit pants and gets the last of the buttons undone, Stiles relaxes them again.

He watches his naked belly round back out, pushing the edges of the shirt further apart. There's a new puffiness to his middle lately, mostly around his belly button, that means that even if it wasn't squished into Derek's lean torso, he could only see the top of it.

"Are you sure I'm not too heavy?"

Derek chuckles and smooths his hands over his bare sides. "You realize I could bench press you, right?"

"What?" Stiles demands. "You could not."

"If you were capable of staying still, I could."

"You don't even know how much I weigh."

"I don't." Derek pushes his shirt off his shoulders. "But even if you had well over a hundred pounds on me—"

"Dude, I don't have a hundred pounds on you," Stiles protests.

"See, then? No problem." Derek grins. "Plus," he squeezes Stiles's sides, "word on the street is you're on a diet now."

Stiles grimaces. "Don't remind me. I tried a Diet Coke today."

"Did you?" The corner of Derek's mouth curves up.

"I had to wash it down with a regular one," Stiles admits. "No one told me about the aftertaste."

Derek smirks.

"Shut up, dude." Stiles gets Derek's shirt off his annoyingly broad shoulders. As he tosses it aside, Derek's hands go back to grip his hips before he can overbalance.

He takes in the curve of muscle of Derek's arms and the plane of his chest. He can't see Derek's abs from here, but he can feel them pressed firm against his own middle.

"You don't even know what Coke tastes like, do you?" he accuses. "You've probably never even had a soda in your life."

"I've had one or two," Derek says easily.

Stiles snorts and pokes Derek's chest and then his own belly. "Here's a perfect practical demonstration. Water drinker. Soda drinker."

Derek hums. "Pretty sure that's more than just a few cans of Coca-Cola."

"Well, yeah, there's some Mountain Dew and Red Bull in there, too," Stiles says. "Had to get through college somehow."

"Naturally." Derek rubs gently over the sides of his belly and looks up to meet his eyes. "You look so good like this. You know that, right? How good your weight looks on you?"

Stiles opens his mouth to retort with his special brand of self-deprecating sarcasm, but something stops him.

He isn't used to looking down at Derek. He looks different from this vantage point. Smaller. Less bulky. Younger than he is.

His face is tilted up and his hazel eyes are wide and achingly sincere.

He looks like he wants Stiles to the point of vulnerability and that's...

Yeah.

Definitely doing it for Stiles.

He runs a thumb over Derek's lower lip. Derek captures it gently between his teeth, not breaking eye contact.

Stiles thinks he would do just about anything right now to keep this look on Derek's face. And then realizes there is something Derek's been asking him for.

"Fuck. Holy fuck."

Derek rubs soothing hands over his hips. "Open your eyes, Stiles."

Stiles blinks a few times, dazed. Derek is staring up at him, lips parted, pupils blown wide in the light from the bedside lamp.

Yeah, Stiles was not wrong about how much Derek had wanted this.

He experimentally lifts himself up and falls back onto Derek's cock again. He can feel every ounce of fat on his body jiggle with the motion.

Derek exhales a sharp breath underneath him and digs his fingers into his hips.

Stiles does it again.

"Did your dick get bigger since last night?" He doesn't think he's ever felt him so deep before.

"No, I — fuck. You feel so good, Stiles." Derek reaches up to cup the flesh of Stiles's chest.

Stiles looks down. Derek still insists that they aren't manboobs, though they sure look like tits when they're wobbling in his hands like this.

At the brush of thumbs over his nipples, he squirms on Derek's cock.

"Love how sensitive your nipples are," Derek says.

"Consolation prize for getting fat, my man." Stiles lifts himself up and down again and exhales raggedly. "You should try it."

Derek seems surprised. Though, also, distracted with the way Stiles is wiggling on him to experiment with a new angle.

"They weren't always like this?"

Stiles shakes his head. His stomach is more sensitive than it used to be, too, but he doesn't need to tell Derek that. In his less self-conscious moments, he's been rather shameless about asking for belly rubs.

Derek makes an aborted movement upward, like he'd like to take one in his mouth. He seems to quickly realize, though, that Stiles's stomach is too big to let him get that close. So he licks his fingers and rubs them gently over a peaked nipple instead.

Stiles groans, arching into his touch, and he resumes heaving himself up and down again. And again.

He does get the attraction of the position, even beyond the nice, deep angle. He knows why Derek's been asking him to get on top for weeks now.

He himself has certainly never been one to turn down a curvy girl on top. Getting to watch the bounce of a nice pair of boobs above you? Having soft breasts and belly within easy reach?

Always a hell yes, as far as he's concerned.

But it's a bit different when it's you on top and it's not feminine curves but your own stomach fat and manboobs doing the bouncing.

To be fair, Derek is very gay. He probably wouldn't appreciate feminine curves anyways.

And, in any case, the kinky fucker still can't seem to take his eyes — or hands — off Stiles's own wobbling 'curves'.

But, still, if Derek's dick wasn't hitting all the best spots inside of him, the embarrassment would easily overpower any arousal.

Luckily for Derek, his dick appears to be up to the task.

"Fuck, Derek," Stiles gasps out. He's feeling the effort in his thighs already. "Pretty sure I was under two hundred pounds last time I did this."

"Jesus," Derek breathes, hands moving to his middle. "You're doing so good, though."

Stiles nods. He'll still have to make Derek take over all the work soon enough, but he has a little more in him before then. If he'd attempted this two months ago, he's sure his out-of-shape ass would be done for by now.

For the first time ever, he mentally thanks old lying Mrs. Peabody for not repairing the elevator to his seventh-story apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
